Boone turned around to glare at Shannon. "Could you please contemplate minding your own business, just for once?"
"I figured you'd have brought it up with him by now," Shannon defended. "Christ, it's ages ago that you spoke to me about it."
"You shouldn't make assumptions, Shannon," Boone told her.
"Well at least he said he was up for it," Shannon said.
"You were listening?" Boone asked.
"I told you I would," Shannon replied. Boone gave her a look. "Oh come on, don't be mad at me just cos you're an idiot."
"Well you're not exactly being supportive," Boone told her.
"Right, cos you never rag on me," Shannon said, rolling her eyes. "Just chill the hell out, Boone."
"Aren't you bored?" Boone asked.
Shannon shrugged. "Sometimes. I just find something to occupy myself with."
"Like what?"
"God, I don't know, watch some TV or do some housework or read a magazine, do some shopping, give myself a manicure, or get someone else to give me a manicure, just whatever."
"Isn't that all a little... shallow?" Boone asked.
Shannon shrugged. "I'm not out to win the Nobel Prize or anything."
"But isn't it kind of unfulfilling?"
"Boone, we're talking about your life, not mine," Shannon said. "I'm okay with how things are for me, you're clearly not."
"I have a lot going for me," Boone said.
"Not if you're unhappy," Shannon countered.
"I'm not unhappy, I'm discontent," Boone stated.
"What's the difference?" Shannon asked.
"Being unhappy means being sad but being discontent is just not being satisfied," Boone explained.
"You're such a thesaurus," Shannon said, like it was some vile insult. "And surely if you're not satisfied, you're not happy."
"I like what I've got, I'm happy with what I've got," Boone insisted. "I just want a little more."
"Like a certain orphan boy named Oliver," Shannon commented.
Boone gave her a look. "If you're not going to take me seriously then I'm not going to talk to you," he said, walking past her and heading into the living room.
Shannon followed after him and sat herself down on the sofa. "You're far too sensitive for your own good, you know that?"
"At least I don't cry at every opportunity I get," Boone said.
"I don't cry," Shannon said.
"I'm talking about Jack," Boone told her.
"Oh," Shannon nodded. "Does he still do that?"
Boone shrugged. "Sometimes."
"So, Mr. Carlyle, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?" Shannon asked.
"That's the big question, isn't it?" Boone replied. He sighed and paced the room, his eyes falling on the card that Shannon made for him. He picked it up off the mantelpiece and sat down on the coffee table, looking at the little island surrounded by blue sea. "I do get homesick sometimes," he admitted.
"For that place?" Shannon asked.
"I never had to question stuff there," Boone explained. "It was life stripped down to it's bare roots. It was simple."
"It was a living hell," Shannon said.
"Well, yeah, that too," Boone agreed. "But I had a purpose there. I was like chief hunter."
"Or understudy to chief hunter," Shannon commented.
"Do you have to?" Boone asked, giving her a look.
"All right, fine, I get your point," Shannon said. "But you're not there now so you can't play at hunter gatherer anymore. Pick something else?."
"'Pick something else'?" Boone asked. "You're acting like this is some multiple choice quiz in a woman's magazine. This is my life, Shannon."
"Yeah, and you're gonna have to start making some decisions soon and stop moping around like an idiot expecting everyone else to make them for you," Shannon told him. "You're always moaning about Jack's bullshit, what about your bullshit?"
Boone sighed and looked at the card again. "This is really nice."
"Thanks."
"It is," Boone said. "It's really nice. People would pay a lot of money for stuff like this."
"Great, maybe I'll start selling them," Shannon replied, sounding more than a little irritated. "Can we stick to the point here?"
"You should," Boone said suddenly.
Shannon looked at him, clearly lost. "I should what?"
"Sell them," Boone said.
"Boone, I was joking," Shannon replied, giving him a look.
"No, no, I'm serious," Boone insisted. He looked back at the card. "There's a market for stuff like this. The personal touch for people who simply don't have time for it. And it's individual. Hand made so no two cards would ever look exactly the same, you'd always get variations. And you can do anything, you can cater to whatever people want, give them a choice of designs, work from an idea they have."
"What the hell are you going on about?" Shannon asked.
Boone looked back at Shannon. "We could do it together."
"Do what together?"
Boone sighed. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"
"I'm listening but you're not making a whole bunch of sense."
"We could do this, we could sell them," Boone said.
Shannon just looked at him. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Shannon, I can run a business," Boone insisted.
"Great, go run one, don't go dragging me into your crazy schemes," Shannon told him, looking disinterested.
"I need you, you make the cards," Boone told her.
"It wasn't exactly difficult," Shannon said.
"Don't you want to do something a little more interesting with your day?" he asked.
"Not really," she replied.
"Liar."
"Shut up."
"Come on, Shannon," Boone pleaded. "You could have money to buy pretty things."
"I have money to buy pretty things," Shannon said.
"You could have more," Boone baited.
"You just came up with the idea this second, how can you be so into it?" she asked.
"Because it's perfect," Boone said. "It's creative, which I haven't had a chance to be in years, not really since I finished the house. And then there's the business side of things, I'm great at the business side of things. And I know I hated my old job but that was because it was some soulless corporation where no one really believed in me. This would be different, this would be some little small scale thing, I could build it up from the ground."
"So why do you need me for any of that?" Shannon asked. "You just told me you can do the creative stuff, you don't need me."
"I don't need you," Boone admitted. "But you'll do it anyway."
Shannon rolled her eyes and gave him a look.
"You're totally cracking under the pressure," Boone teased.
"Am not," she all but pouted.
"Come on, say you'll do it," Boone pleaded. "I'll do all the hard stuff, all you have to do is play with craft materials all day."
"But you're a slave driver of a boss," Shannon complained.
"How would you know?" Boone asked.
"You expect a lot from people, Boone."
"You can make your own hours," Boone told her.
"Are you an idiot? I'd never come in."
"Okay, so we'll come up with something together," Boone suggested. "We'll start out at thirty hours a week."
"Thirty hours?" Shannon asked. "That sounds like a lot."
"Oh, come on. Based on a five day week that's six hours a day, that's hardly me being a slave driver."
"Six hours?" Shannon asked, clearly outraged. "No way."
Boone sighed. "Right, you've never worked a day in your life. Fine, twenty-five."
"Twenty-four," Shannon said.
"Why twenty-four?"
"I want an extra hour off on Fridays," she replied.
"Fine."
"And I want an hour lunch," she continued.
"You want an hour lunch on a five hour shift?" Boone asked her.
"Yeah, I do," Shannon replied.
Boone shook his head. "You're unbelievable," she said. "You know you don't even need office hours, all you have to do is make some cards."
"Some what about money?" Shannon asked.
"Profit share," Boone said.
"50/50?"
"60/40."
"I assume I'm getting the forty there," she said, sounding unimpressed.
"I'm the one doing all the hard stuff, remember?"
"You won't have any hard stuff to do unless I make you cards."
"I can make my own damn cards," he said, getting up and putting the card on the mantelpiece.
"60/40, five hours a day except Fridays when I only do four hours and you're not allowed to call me at home about work crap," Shannon said.
Boone turned back to face her. "You have to be serious about this, Shannon."
"I'm serious," she told him.
Boone nodded. "Okay then."
He walked over and offered his hand out to her. She shook it and Boone found himself smiling.